


Begin Again

by revesle



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Christmas Party, Daenerys is sick of it too, F/M, Jon hates small talk, Unbeta'd, a tiny bit angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-18 00:49:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13088958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revesle/pseuds/revesle
Summary: They meet again at an old friend’s Christmas party, and maybe, they begin again with one another.Not quite the usual Christmas fluff. Christmas is sometimes a pretty crappy time, especially when you're sort of going through a quarter-life crisis. When life doesn't exactly make sense, or is going the way you had expected it to. But it's okay, because things have a funny way of eventually working out.Preview:Jon only smiled good humouredly, but didn’t respond to Pyp’s little jab. He took a swig of his beer and his eyes were trained back to the door of Grey and Missandei’s apartment. It was as if he was expecting her to barge in at any moment, take him down to the beach below, and disappear together into the crowds.To hell with this party and its small talk, Jon, she would say, and they would spend the rest of the night with sand between their toes and the salty biting winds against their faces. As midnight struck, he would pull her into a kiss – a real kiss, not the soft one they shared, just to show her how much passion and happiness he hoped to give her, right here, that she had been looking for.





	1. Mistletoe

  
 

Jon shrugged off his heavy wool coat and placed it over his coach. His heater soon hissed to life, and warmed the entire apartment. Not that there was a huge area to warm to begin with. It was small, but it was enough for him. It was a sort of ‘hole in the wall’ on the outskirts of central King’s Landing, sort of just far enough from the hustle and bustle to enjoy some semblance of quiet, but close enough for the daily commute to work to be minimal.

 

He placed the box of Moët into his fridge, next to the styrofoam container of take-out from his dinner last night with Robb and Margaery. They had just come back from their honeymoon in Dorne, and they absolutely glowed. They were radiant with their new tans, with their excitement of commencing their new life together. He also observed how Margaery declined a glass of wine at dinner, which was curious.

 

Jon contemplated taking out a can of beer, but thought against it. They were would be plenty of alcohol tonight at Sam and Gilly’s little Christmas soiree. So instead, he settled on the last drags of his orange juice and settled back into his lumpy couch while listening to the two voice mail that were left for him while he was out.

 

The first was from his parents. It was just a quick message to let him know they had landed in Braavos safely, and were waiting to check into their hotel. Tomorrow, they would board their cruise ship. They had always wanted to visit the free cities around the coast of Essos, and were finally able to in their retirement.

 

Jon then listened to the second message. The familiar yet estranged voice on the machine made him pause, made him still his fingers before they started fidgeting. It wasn’t because it was unexpected; he and Ygritte had been playing phone tag with one another for the past two years. It was their way of remaining friends. They left each other messages – quick e-mails, a happy birthday text here and there, or a voice message occasionally when the impersonality of texts wasn’t enough.

 

It was that her usual harsh northern accent was missing... well, rather, the accent remained but the abruptness, the japes and the boldness, all of it was replaced with an air of awkwardness, of a lack of confidence. Dare he say, he could hear a tinge of _unsureness_?

 

Jon leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his fingers pulled his hair back. Maybe he was a bit of a masochist, so he replayed the message once more.

 

_“Well, anyways, Jon, I just thought… I just thought I’d ring to see how you’re going. I hope you’re okay. Things up here have been busy, with the little one and all.”_ There was a brief pause of silence, and then, _“Will you come home for Christmas? Let me know. We can catch up— you haven’t met little Lily yet, have you? Anyway, ring me back, let me know how you’re going. And have a Merry Christmas if we don’t hear from one another until then.”_

 

Jon bit his bottom lip, and swallowed back the lump that formed inside his throat as memories of two Christmases ago resurfaced. Well, not resurfaced, as they were never submerged into the recesses of his mind, but they were brought to the forefront of his thoughts once more.

 

He proposed to her on Christmas Day. Everything was perfect. His cousin Sansa had out did herself with the decorations, and he had already asked her parents beforehand for her hand in a marriage. It was all going so well.

 

But in reality, it wasn’t.

 

Jon never saw the rejection coming, because in his rose-tinted vision, he never saw that their shades of love for one another were entirely wrong. At first, the initial rejection did not hurt as much. He was stunned, sure, as he thought, as he _believed,_ that it was time for them. Everything had felt so right. It was what happened afterwards that tore at his insides. Watching her remove her things from their shared apartment hit him like a tonne of bricks. It was the confrontation that his romantic relationship with Ygritte was truly and completely over. It was also when he had to confront himself that this chapter of his life was over, and that he faced an uncertain future.

 

She then met someone, a co-worker no less at her new job, and had gotten married almost a year later _after_ she told him she wasn’t keen on the idea of marriage. And a year and a half later after her spiel about not being able to pursue his ideal of a traditional family – husband, wife, kids and a dog or two – she gave birth to her little girl.

 

But still, they remained friends, if he could call the phone-tagging that. Jon had known Ygritte for so long, he didn’t know what his life was like before he met her in high school. She was always part of his in some way or another since he was fifteen, and so he settled with her offer of being just _friends_.

 

A sudden, hate filled energy made him lurch forward and delete her voice message. He had never done that before. He almost did when she rang him to tell him that she was getting married, and that he had a plus one in his invitation that was coming in the mail.

 

But this?

 

It was a bit too much.

 

Ygirtte wasn’t an inherently malicious person, but the voice message felt like a taunt. She only wanted to check in on him, to wish him a Merry Christmas, but to him it was another reminder of where was at in her life compared to his.

 

Jon took a breath. He glanced down at his phone, and did a quick read of the Stark family group chat on facebook. He assured his cousins Arya and Bran that he would be okay in King’s Landing for Christmas, and that there was no need for his Uncle Ned and Aunt Catelyn to leave a spare chair and plate for him this Christmas. His parents were only in Braavos; it wasn’t like he was _orphaned_ for Christmas.

 

He headed off towards his bathroom and showered, getting ready for tonight’s Christmas soiree. Sam and Gilly had rounded up some of their old university friends as well as their co-workers to their little Christmas dinner party tonight at their town-house. And of course, to gush over their little bundle of joy, Little Sam.

 

* * *

  

Jon shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, the plastic bag containing the box of Moët hanging off his forearm. In his haste to beat the traffic, he had forgotten to get a gift bag for the champagne. The only thing he could find around his apartment to carry the Moët in were the plastic bags he kept under his sink from grocery shopping.

 

He rounded the street corner. He could see the townhouses at the end of the cul-de-sac, and smiled a bit to himself. Sam and Gilly had done well for themselves. They deserved it; Sam had toiled away at university and then medical school for almost seven years, and Gilly had worked two jobs at once during university to put herself there to become a nurse. Not to mention how she had supported Sam during medical school as well.

 

“Jon!” Samwell Tarly’s eyes lit up when he answered the door. Jon had barely knocked on the wreathed door, and then it had swung open to reveal Sam’s aproned figure. “Come on in, stranger. You came just in time—Gilly’s just putting the glaze on the ham now! And we’ve just gave Little Sam to my mother.”

 

He shed his coat, handed over the box of Moët to Sam – “Oh, some expensive bubblies from Mr Corporate, eh? You’re lucky Tyrion’s gone back home for Christmas—I don’t see this lasting two minutes with him here!” – and settled himself quietly on the empty couch in their living room. Sam walked back into the kitchen to help Gilly put the finishing touches on the food. The guests were gathered around the kitchen too, but Jon felt like he needed a moment to warm up by the gas heater. It wasn’t a long walk from the subway to Sam and Gilly’s, but a deep chill had settled into his bones.

 

“Here you go,” Jon looked up and smiled at Pyp, who approached him with two mugs of what looked like eggnog. “Always brooding away in the corner, huh, Snow? Glad to see you haven’t changed much, mate.”

 

Jon accepted the mug of eggnog and took a sip. He winced as he swallowed his mouthful. His eyes watered and throat burned. “Seven Hells, Pyp, still spiking drinks are you?”

 

Pyp shrugged, flippant. “Wasn’t suited to my taste. So, I improved it,” he took another sip, and up close Jon could see that his face was already flushed. “Tell me, how does corporate life suit you? Heard you got promoted to partner recently.”

 

Jon shrugged as set the mug of eggnog down on the coffee table. He was careful to use a coaster. “Same old, really. Just means more work and people I have to look after.”

 

“Always the modest one,” Pyp grinned, giving him a boisterous slap on the back that nearly knocked him from the coach, “Parents doing alright?”

 

“Yeah, they’re in Essos. About to cruise around the free cities, actually.” Jon wondered how much small talk the rest of his friends would partake in before the skirted around the whole Ygritte thing.

 

Just as he thought, Pyp gave him a small nudge. “You doing okay then?”

 

Jon just gave him a small smile, hoping it didn’t look too forced. “Yeah, I’m doing fine. So, uh, how’s the construction business going for you?”

 

Pyp drained the rest of his eggnog, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Bust. The economy slows down for _just_ a bit, and construction is the first to bite the bullet.”

 

“Oh,” was all he managed. Pyp gave him a pat on the back and asked him to join him at the dinner table later on as he got up to refill his mug. By the way he half stumbled back into the kitchen, Jon wondered if he had enough.

 

Peals of laughter, and even the sound of dropped cutlery and Sam’s profuse apologies, could be heard from the kitchen. Jon gathered his mug and wandered into where the party was at.

 

Gilly was still fussing over the ham while Sam was entertaining a few colleagues from the hospital while he set the dinner table up. The rest of the guests were crowded together in groups of three’s and four’s, glasses of various beverages in hand, chatting and catching up. Carols were being played softly on wireless speakers from one of Sam’s or Gilly’s phones, and a small whiteboard sign sat next to the speaker read ‘ _Here’s the Wi-Fi password, leeches!’_

 

“Snow!” Grey had noticed him just standing there by the doorframe, observing the festivities, “Get over here, mate. Haven’t seen ya’ since grad! Sam didn’t mention you were coming.”

 

“He didn’t RSVP until last minute, that’s why,” Sam said from the dinner table, overhearing Grey’s excited voice, “He only clicked attending on facebook.”

 

Grey laughed, “That’s how anyone under fifty RSVP’s to these things, Tarly.” He had an arm around his wife’s waist and pulled her even tighter, “But Missy’s old fashion like you. Had to send our RSVP as soon as we got it.”

 

Missandei swatted at her husband’s arm, “If they bothered posting those invitations, then I’ll return the favour and send a proper reply.”

 

Jon joined their little group by the wine rack in the cramped kitchen. Grey and Missandei, as well as Robb and Margaery and Sam and Gilly, were those couples that survived university and settled nicely into their newly wed lives. Next to Missandei was someone he hadn’t seen for a while too – Daenerys Targaryen, who was more interested into her glass of red than the usual small talk that Grey and Missandei had roped him into. She stood there in her corner with them, wearing a dark maroon blouse and matching black skirt.

 

“Naarth was absolutely beautiful, you should see how the Summer Islands _glisten_ during sunset and sunrise.”

 

“Ah, the job’s alright. But I’ve got an interview for this cyber-tech security company after the New Year. More excited about that, to be honest. Oh, did I tell you about my sweet set-up at home for mining BitCoins?”

 

“Honestly, Grey, no one cares about your imaginary money-,”

 

“ _Except_ when it paid for our honeymoon.”

 

Jon just smiled, took a sip at his spiked eggnog. He had a client at work that was _absolutely_ obsessed with the digital currency, so he entertained Grey’s talk about the cryptocurrency a bit longer. Missandei rolled her eyes good naturedly, obviously tired of her husband’s obsession and turned to converse with Daenerys instead.

 

“Grey!” Grenn had made his appearance to the party. He appeared at the doorway of the kitchen, both his arms thrown in the air with his hands clutching bottles of Jack’s. Despite the weather outside, he still wore his signature polo shirt with the collar popped. His face was plastered with a wide grin, “You and me, old boy. We’ve got to settle this.”

 

A few of their friends turned to look at the two—some laughing, some recounting stories of Grey and Grenn’s infamous adventures after two bottles of Jack’s during uni. Jon felt a twinge on the side of his head as he recounted the night he had joined the boys at the university bar. He had been hungover for most of the next day—Ygritte had even _held_ his hair back as he retched, while Robb laughed at his misery.

 

Grey gave Jon a small pat on the arm and excused himself to join his old university drinking buddy. Missandei looked like she wanted to stay with Daenerys, but soon excused herself too, “I have to make sure he doesn’t drink himself into a hangover into the New Year.”

 

Jon was about to open his mouth to say something to his new found companion, but he quickly closed it. He and Daenerys only shared a few mutual friends – they were never close during university. Their only connection was with Grey and Missandei, and he wasn’t particularly close with the couple either. So he cleared his throat, “So, how’s life treating you, Daenerys? Haven’t seen you since graduation.”

 

She gave him a small smile, “Yeah, it’s been a while, hasn’t it, Jon?” She tucked away loose strands of silvery hair behind her ear, “Life’s been good, I suppose.”

 

“You suppose?” he asked.

 

“Well, I could go on about how deceivingly great my career is at the Public Prosecution’s Office,” she offered, “and then pretend to be interested in how your career is at Night’s Watch Inc. And then we’ll part ways, and start this small talk dance again with someone else.”

 

Jon couldn’t stop the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. Maybe it was the strong eggnog, or maybe her infectious humour, “You’re sick of it too, huh?

 

Daenerys nodded, “Small talk is just so exhausting. It’s what I hate about these parties—I mean, don’t get me wrong, seeing everyone again is great and all, but _honestly_ ,” she sighed, “some of these people could just cut to the chase and ask what they _really_ want to. Failed careers, disastrous romantic encounters – all the meaty stuff that they actually want to know, rather than about your last trip to Essos or your booming career.”

 

Cut to the chase? Jon tried to recall what anyone has mentioned about Daenerys in the past few years, but his mind came up blank. That was how much he knew about her – nothing, except for the odd mention in the media when she took on a high profile case. He understood her exhaustion nonetheless, the skirts around the edge, the small nudges and sympathetic looks. “I know what you mean.”

 

Daenerys took a small sip from her wine. “I don’t mean to be forward, but—,”

 

“-but you do, so go on.”

 

She gave him gave him a knowing smile. “This time of the year must suck, huh?”

 

Jon wanted to be flippant like Pyp was about his possible alcoholism. He wanted to deny that this even bothered him, like Grenn’s denial of his descent into adulthood. He wanted to disguise his confusion, like Sam and Gilly did at trying to balance a social life while being first time parents.

 

But he couldn’t.

 

Resigned, he told her. “Yeah, it does. She even left a voice message this morning to wish me a Merry Christmas.”

 

Daenerys winced, her nose crinkling up a bit. “A bit cruel, isn’t it?”

 

“She’s just checking up on me,” he said, “To see if I was okay. Which, I was, until she rang.”

 

Daenerys took another sip of her wine, her face looking rather contemplative, like she was debating on something. So Jon took it upon himself and asked, “So why do you suppose life’s good? It is, or it isn’t.”

 

“Well,” she started, her lilac eyes quickly looking over his shoulder to where Missandei was, and then focused back on him, “I recently left my boyfriend of three years. No particular reason—he wasn’t an arse, or anything. I just fell out of love—well, no, to fall out of love implies you must _be_ in love to begin with.”

 

“So, you weren’t in love?” he countered.

 

She inclined her head a bit, a small nod of defeat, “I tried. I really did. But I couldn’t.”

 

Jon raised his mug, “If you ever see him again, tell him I’m starting a club.”

 

To his credit, Daenerys actually _laughed_ at this, but it wasn’t one filled with mirth. “Oh, Jon, I’m sure Ygritte wasn’t as heartless as I was.”

 

Jon took a good gulp of his eggnog, the high alcohol content be damned. “Depends. You planning of getting married to the first single guy you see?”

 

Daenerys just chuckled, with mirth this time swirling in her eyes. And then both their attention was drawn to Sam who called his guests over to their dinner table adjacent to the kitchen. Jon merely gestured towards the dining room, “After you, Prosecutor Targaryen.”

 

“Why thank you, Financial Analyst Snow.”

 

Jon just shook his head, his smile widening as he followed her into the dining room.

 

* * *

 

He set his cutlery down beside his plate, and wiped his mouth with a napkin. He chortled as Daenerys recounted the story about her encounter with Tyrion Lannister at 3.30am inside a King’s Landing police station, and took another swig of his glass of wine that Gilly had been constantly insisting to refill. None of the guests’ glasses had a chance to be half empty throughout the night. Even in the dim glow of the dining room, he could see a crowd of flustered faces. Some were already starting to get tipsy.

 

“…and as I drove him home after his brother Jaime paid bail, he couldn’t stop going on about his story about a dwarf walking into a brothel with a jackass and a honeycomb…”

 

“Is this the jackass joke?” Missandei asked across the table, “He never finishes that joke. Always gets interrupted.”

 

“Oh, Missy, I don’t think it’s one that’s quite appropriate for the present company. You might want to text him, truthfully, for the rest of it.” Daenerys winked at her. Missandei giggled, and then re-joined the conversation with Grey and Grenn.

 

She suddenly turned to him now, her face and those shinning lilac eyes looking at him. “Let’s get out of here, Jon. I’ll grab two flutes, and you grab your Moët bottle from the fridge.”

 

“What about the party?” he looked at Sam, who was engrossed in a conversation with a fellow colleague. They were discussing a rather complicated case that presented itself in the ER last week.

 

“Do you want to keep answering questions about Ygritte? ‘Cause I’m done answering thinly hidden questions about Daario. Or about the ethical dilemma of being a criminal lawyer.”

 

Daenerys had a point. Jon looked around the table, seeing how all the guests were engrossed in their own conversations; would anyone really miss him and Daenerys? Amongst the happy couples, the new parents and the newly-weds, who would miss the two dark sheep in their own little corner?

 

He gave her a nod, “Let’s get out of here.”

 

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Daenerys reached forward and grabbed two unused glasses. “Go grab the Moët and I’ll meet you at the front.”

 

The evening was actually turning out better than he had expected.

 

Jon excused himself from the table, but only Sam really acknowledged him getting up. He turned to the kitchen, grabbed the unopened bottle – there was enough alcohol flowing, no one would miss it – and met Daenerys by the front door. 

 

* * *

  

Jon watched her red lips and rosy cheeks. He watched as her fingers twirled around loose strands of her silvery hair before she tucked them behind her ear. Her hair was done in intricate braids, with a few strands loose to frame her lovely milky face. In the darkness that was illuminated by the street lamps, she looked ethereal.

 

As she recounted another story from work, he saw a fiery passion swirl in those lilac eyes. It was sort of magnetic, drawing him in with every word that left her pouty fully lips. He found himself smiling easily with her. And then there was this raw, unadulterated and sometimes even brutal honesty about their society that came from her various stories. It was alluring, almost intoxicating, as he listened on. And he enjoyed this, and her company as they took a stroll out into the chilly December air. Daenerys apparently did not live too far from here, and knew a quiet park where they could take a walk.

 

They sat down on the park bench, and Jon poured the champagne into their flutes. Daenerys raised hers, and Jon clinked it. They took long, leisurely sips before Jon set his empty flute down carefully beside him. “Reckon they noticed we’ve gone?”

 

She shook her head, “Doubt it.”

 

Jon leaned his head back, and closed his eyes. The buzzing sensation in his head from the alcohol was pleasant. The tanginess from the champagne was still on tongue, and his airways were filled with the chill from the night air and the scent of _flowers_. He wasn’t sure flowers even bloomed this time of the year; perhaps it was her perfume.

 

“So,” Daenerys said, adopting his leisurely posture on the bench as well, “Enough about me. Tell me more about what you’ve been up to since graduation, Jon.”

 

“Hmm?” he lifted his head up a bit, and turned to her, “There’s nothing much to say, truthfully. Secured a grad position at Night’s Watch Inc shortly after graduation, worked my way up steadily.”

 

Daenerys reached for the bottle and refilled her glass. Jon shook his head at her offer to refill his as well. “Your loss,” she grinned.

 

“I’m actually not a fan,” he admitted.

 

“But you knew enough to buy an expensive bottle?”

 

“Truthfully, I just picked it ‘cause it was expensive. Wouldn’t know the difference between this and a twenty-dollar bottle.”

 

“Well, maybe one of your New Year’s resolution can be about getting acquainted with more alcohol than just, well, I don’t know, _beer._ ”

 

Jon barked out a laugh, “You still believe in resolutions?” He let her snub at his taste in alcohol slide.

 

“Don’t we all have plans for the future?”

 

“I stopped trying to plan out my future years ago, Daenerys,” he deadpanned.

 

“Always a downer, aren’t we, Jon?”

 

“What? It’s true.” He straightened up from his laid back position, the light mood he felt now turned serious. “When everything that you thought would happen - everything that you were working towards – when that all goes to shit, you just sort of... sort of just go with the flow. There’s no point planning for things that won’t happen.”

 

Daenerys took a contemplative sip from her glass, “She really messed you up, didn’t she?”

 

“I don’t know if that’s the right word for it,” he said, looking down at his hands before he looked back at her. “I mean, I know I’m not in love with her anymore. That part of me _grew up_. But I just don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

 

“ _Kill the boy, and let the man be born_. That was something my great-uncle Aemon would say all the time.”

 

Jon furrowed his eyebrows, “I suppose you can put it that way. But I ask myself, who’s the man that the boy must be killed for?” he sighed, again. “I just thought my life would be different. I’m twenty-eight, I live on my own and I’ve been on three dates in the past two years. This isn’t the life I envisioned, but here I am.”

 

When he looked at her, when he _really_ looked at her and into those lilac eyes – he saw something that made him mentally stumble back. In his frustration, in his pool of self-pity and dejectedness, he saw a look of _understanding._ It wasn’t sympathy. It wasn’t pity. It was a mutual understanding of not knowing where life was going, or what was in store, but there seemed to be a silent promise that things will be okay.

 

“I suppose, what I wanted to say, is that I want to begin again,” he finally said aloud – to himself, to her, and to whatever Old or New Gods that were listening. “I have all these lofty ideas and dreams of where I’d be. But I’m nowhere near them. So I want to begin again.”

 

Did she understand? Was he articulating himself properly? Jon didn’t know. All he knew was that the mixture of alcohol and Daenerys’ alluring presence and her understanding smile allowed himself to voice his swirling thoughts aloud.

 

“I want to do the same,” she said softly, and leaned back into the bench. “I do. I know it’s silly, but I want to find myself. To be happy. I’ve been in a state of… of being forced to enjoy myself, to convince myself that everything is okay when it hasn’t been, and I haven’t been putting my own happiness first in a while,” her eyes closed for a moment, it was doubtless that numerous painful memories replayed themselves inside her mind’s eye. When she opened her eyes again, Jon felt his heart sink a little bit. “Look at us – two single individuals, getting drunk at a park at night, three days before Christmas. Wonderful, aren’t we?”

 

“But we aren’t alone.”

 

“No,” her warm hands found his, “I suppose we aren’t.”

 

* * *

 

“Here’s my coat,” Jon shrugged out of his wool jacket and placed it around her shoulders despite her protests that she was perfectly warm in her cardigan. She wasn’t – he saw her shiver a few times already. They had finished the bottle together, and decided to head back.

 

Daenerys’ face was flushed pink from the biting wind, and a bit from the alcohol they consumed together. He was sure his face was flushed too – he could feel the warmth of the alcohol in his face. “Thank you, Jon,” her hand found his and gave it a soft squeeze. “Walk me back to my car? I parked it a few blocks away from Sam and Gilly’s.”

 

“Sure,” he gathered the flutes from the ground and followed her out of the park.

 

They strolled together down the streets, quiet and lost in thought or contemplative. Jon was the first to break their silence back to her car, “Thank you, by the way.”

 

She turned to him, “For what exactly?”

 

He struggled to find the right words for what came next. Jon pursed his lips, and then let go of a breath he had been holding in. He watched as his exhaled breath created a small cloud of condensation in the frozen air. “Just for being you, I suppose. For listening, and not thinking I’m some sort of damaged, whiny fool. And for understanding, too.”

 

“It’s fine Jon, really,” she gave his hand a firmer squeeze; he felt his pulse quicken at this. “Everyone loses sight of where they want to go. Plus,” he watched as she licked her lips, “broody looks good on you.”

 

He quirked an eyebrow at her, another smile on his lips. It was just too easy to laugh and smile with her, wasn’t it? “I’m working on my pout. Give me a bit to master it.”

 

“Come on, Mr Pouty, my car is this way,” she swatted at his arm and he followed. “So, plans for Christmas?”

 

“A quiet one, I think. Sort of contemplated going to Winterfell with Robb and Margaery to see my aunt and uncle, but…,” he let his voice trail off. Daenerys didn’t press any further, “So, what about you?”

 

“I’m leaving tomorrow to Dragonstone. Visiting my parents, and my older brother’s kids,” a soft expression fell across her face, “I haven’t seen the kids in a while. Been so busy with work. I can’t wait to see little Aegon and Rhaenys.”

 

“Oh, so you’re the rich aunty that flies in and buys her less fortunate relatives expensive gifts?” he japed.

 

“Oh, I don’t know how _less fortunate_ Rhaegar and Elia are. He’s head of my family’s corporation,” she laughed, “but I’m the only one who lives away from the home town. So I miss them a lot. But I’ll be back in King’s Landing for New Year’s.”

 

“Think Grey and Missandei are hosting something for New Year’s,” he mused, and then looked sidewards at her, “You going?”

 

“I’m going to try and make it. That’s if work doesn’t call me in.”

 

“The perks of public service, isn’t it?”

 

“Sush, Mr Evil Corporation.”

 

Jon side stepped to avoid her swat, a large lopsided grin forming on his face. “You sure did park pretty far,” he noted as the crossed another street.

 

“Well,” she gave him a sheepish look, “it’s parked underground at my apartment complex.”

 

“What?” He looked up and sure enough, they had arrived at an apartment building. It was nicer than his; it was in the better part of King’s Landing, closer to the central business district. “So I’ve just walked you home. You’re sly, Miss Targaryen.”

 

“A dragon does as she pleases,” she shrugged out of his coat and handed it back to him, “Did you want to come up for something?”

 

Jon considered it, but he knew they both already had enough to drink. He didn’t want to end the night messily; it was, oddly, almost wonderful. One of the better nights out he had in years. But he knew that this wasn’t the last time he wanted to see her – maybe in the new year they could do something?

 

Yes. He’d like that very much. To begin again.

 

As he shrugged back on his coat, Daenerys took a small step closer to him. They were standing underneath the entrance of the apartment, shielded from the wind. Her eyes drifted up, and Jon’s gaze followed hers.

 

Mistletoe. An actual wreath of mistletoe hung above them. He looked back down at her, and that grin of his widened. “You really are sly, Miss Targaryen.”

 

Those lilac eyes, they were like liquor. Jon knew he could find himself terribly intoxicated in them, and he knew he could never get enough. With one hand that slightly trembled, he caressed her cheek and leaned in.

 

It was a soft kiss. A gentle one. He knew that should he deepen it, he would be lost, that he would not be able to stop himself. So he leaned back, and pressed his forehead against hers. There was a promise for more in the future in the taste of her lips. And he would hunger for it until the next time. And the time after that. “Merry Christmas, Daenerys.”

 

“Merry Christmas, Jon.”

 


	2. By the Beach

 

 

_“_ _Hey hey, I hope I called you before you left for Grey’s. I forgot to give him my laptop to look over ‘cause the hardware is playing up again. If I caught you before you left – can you drop by mine and Marge’s to grab the laptop? I freaking owe you a bunch Jon – well, it’s Uncle Jon now, isn’t it? Fuck.”_

 

Jon pursed his lips at Robb’s voice message; he could have at least rung him on his mobile while he was still out buying a bottle from the liquor shop for Grey and Missandei’s get together later tonight. “Seven Hells,” he muttered as he searched for Robb and Margaery’s spare apartment key under his coffee table. Wasn’t it Margaery who was supposed to have the pregnancy brain, not Robb?

 

As his hand blindly patted around to look for the key, the second message automatically played.

 

_“I suppose you’re at Riverrun with the family now. Well, just thought I’d ring to wish you a Happy New Year. And send my regards to the family too.”_

 

At the sound of her voice playing through the speaker, Jon’s head shot up and hit the coffee table. Asides the physical pain from the hit his head suffered, he oddly felt _dazed_ at hearing her voice. Jon frowned at this - no, that wasn’t right. He felt dazed at _how_ he felt hearing her voice again after her last message.

 

Ygritte’s voice had once given him butterflies; it was her voice that he thought he would hear wake him up every morning for the rest of his life; and, finally, it was once a voice that caused him to feel unsettled, to feel a dull ache and even anxious at times.

 

Now, as he sat on the floor rubbing his head and feeling slightly dumbfounded, her voice did _nothing_. The hold she had on him… was it disappearing? Jon knew he had let her go, as to hold onto her only brought him madness and anguish. Their love disappeared into an uneasy, sort of _forced_ friendship where, if he was honest with himself, was tinged with resentment.

 

He resented that she had her own path, well cut and defined. A husband. A house by the Wolf’s Wood up north. A career in social work that she absolutely adored. And a new baby girl. Hell, he even heard they got a freaking malamute. She had walked away with something to show – something to prove that the last eight years were not wasted. All Jon was left were crossroads upon crossroads with no map, no sense of direction.

 

But now, the ache, the pain, the feeling of being unsettled – it was starting to feel like an old wound. It was a fading scar that he could glance at from time to time, remembering how the gash had caused so much agony. Was this how it felt to let go of that resentment?

 

Maybe.

 

He wasn’t sure. Jon wanted to laugh – when was the last time he felt sure about what direction his life was taking? The promotion to partner at work, maybe, but that was just acknowledgement of almost six years of late nights, early starts and unwavering loyalty to the company. But next to Robb’s engagement and eventual wedding, Sam and Gilly purchasing their townhouse and, _Seven Hells_ , even Grey’s bloody BitCoin mining setup – it felt like a hollow achievement. Superficial, even. His career wasn’t something that he tied his identity down to – it wasn’t literally life-saving like Sam’s, or exciting like Grey’s. He just stared at Excel sheets all day and dealt with the frenzied traders down on the ground floor. It was a means to an end, to ensure he stayed afloat with the increasing living costs in this city; it was nothing that really brought him a sense of fulfilment. A proper sense of purpose. A clear direction.

 

The change he felt occurred within the past few days. Jon had woken up on Christmas morning, alone, (surprise, _surprise!_ ), but he didn’t quite _feel_ alone. He skyped his parents, which took a bit of time to figure out as his father didn’t realise his phone’s wallet case covered the rear camera so all the amazing ‘views’ of Meereen were obscured. Not too soon later, the Stark pack called him from Winterfell to check in on him. It was during this call that Robb and Margaery announced their pregnancy, as they wanted to include him as well. After the jubilant news, he then had to reassure for the _n_ th time to the Starks that he was fine being alone for Christmas.

 

And Jon actually really was fine. It wasn’t a façade anymore that he put on for his family and extended family around Christmas time.

 

Later as the sun set over Christmas Day in King’s Landing, Jon stood on the balcony of his bedroom that overlooked the vast expense of the city. From his apartment, he could faintly see the shores of Blackwater Bay and, in the other direction, could see the beautiful monuments and gardens of Aegon’s Hill towards the west. The usual chaos was nowhere to be found on that night; traffic below was quiet, and there seemed to be a moment’s peace found in the frenzied metropolis. After he finished his bourbon and was sufficiently filled with liquid courage, he had called Daenerys. He had been meaning to call her, to at least text her, but she had mentioned she was going to be in Dragonstone with her family and he didn’t want to intrude.

 

When he heard her voice over the phone, he swore he suffered heart palpitations. This puzzled him – everything about her puzzled him, actually. Her vivacity, her tenacious and yet spontaneous nature and those goddamn exotic eyes. Jon wondered how they never _really_ noticed each other during university, even though they studied the same major in their undergraduate degrees and had all those mutual friends. There was only an occasional run-in at a party or two, but that was it.

 

Perhaps it was because he suffered tunnel vision with Ygritte, and she, too, was dating Drogo (or was it Drago?) during their four years in business school. Maybe life had made sure they went through their own lacklustre journeys before finding one another again at Sam and Gilly’s.

 

The thought of _fate_ made Jon audibly laughed out loud. Fate, really?

 

Something Ygritte always said when she teased him, whenever she was exasperated with him or annoyed with him sprung to mind – _“You really do know nothing, Snow.”_

 

Jon wished her a Merry Christmas, and hoped he wasn’t interrupting her family time in Dragonstone. He almost heard her smile over the phone, her smirk, and could imagine her lilac eyes sparkling with mirth, _“It’s not quite Christmas without Snow, is it?”_

 

He barked out a laugh at her horrible pun, _“Very original, Dany.”_

“Dany? _Who’s ‘Dany’? Only friends call me Dany.”_

 

_“Am I not your friend?”_

 

There was a pause. And then, _“I’m not in a habit of kissing_ friends _under mistletoes.”_

 

Jon was tongue-tied at this response. Was he expecting her to be _this_ forward? At Sam and Gilly’s, it was her who had made the first move, but somewhere a small voice in his mind wondered how much of her attraction to him was real, and not solely attributed to the amount of alcohol they had consumed. In that very moment, Jon felt like a fourteen-year-old boy who had been chosen to participate in ‘Seven Minutes of Heaven’ with the girl he was crushing on. Desperately, he tried to think of something, _anything_ , coherent to say back.

 

 _“Hey, Jon, sorry I’ve got to go – my nephew has found his mother’s birth control pills, and I’ve got to make sure he doesn’t think it’s candy_ — Egg, put that down! Vis, help me here with Egg- _Sorry, I’ll see you at Grey’s and Missandei’_ s?”

 

_“Yeah. Sure. No worries. I’ll see you then. It’s a date.”_

 

For the next few days, his stomach would lurch and his mind recoiled when he recalled that conversation. _It’s a date_. Couldn’t he have been smoother? Yes, he was _immensely_ attracted to her – so much so that it almost scared him to feel this amount of attraction towards anyone after Ygritte. But it was undoubtedly there, like an inferno raging and he sought to be burned, to be consumed, by it. Though Jon still wished to take things cautiously slow; to test the water, to ensure he would not end up wounded again after everything.

 

Jon merely sighed. He stood up from the floor, and went to get changed for tonight’s festivities. His raven curls were getting beyond his powers to tame now at this length, so he tied it back into a small knot at the back of his head. At this, Jon grimaced at his reflection in the mirror; with the way his hair was tied up, his face looked even longer, more solemn, and he wished his eyes didn’t look so _dark_. But alas, genetics worked out as such; instead of inheriting his father’s fair Snow looks, he had gotten all of his colouring from his mother’s Stark genes.

 

A ripple of nerves settled at the bottom of his stomach as he smoothed his crisp white shirt and then donned his jacket. The nerves, he decided, were attributed to the fact he no longer stagnant, no longer as lost as he felt before. It was too soon to say for sure, but he remained hopeful as he fidgeted with his hair a little bit, and then grabbed the Dornish Red from his kitchen table-top. He gave up looking for the spare key to his cousin’s apartment; it was laying around the place somewhere, but he didn’t have time to look for it. Jon glanced at the time on his phone, and then hurried out of his apartment towards the subway.

 

Robb’s laptop can wait until after the New Year, or whenever Grey wasn’t too busy. But tonight couldn’t wait. The opportunity had appeared, and it had finally presented itself before him. All he had to do was to reach out, grasp onto it, or forever cling onto the safety of the sinking ship, hoping for another way out that might never come.

 

* * *

 

Grey and Missandei’s apartment was situated on the edge of the city, located in perhaps the only picturesque quarters of King’s Landing at the harbour side of Blackwater Bay. Each morning they were greeted with cargo ships docking into the harbour, ready to unload their cargo for trade from various cities and nations. As the midday sun rose, the cargo ships scattered and were replaced with the glistening magnificence of holiday cruise ships and dainty yachts. And by nightfall, the bay was animated by the night life inhabitants as bars and clubs boomed with patrons, music and overflowed with alcohol.

 

Tonight, as Jon emerged from the underground subway station, he could only describe the air and atmosphere as _electric_. The already popular quarter was crowded with throngs of people; hilarity, excitement and drunken fun beared the cold, salty winds of the bay and laughed in the face of the dreary winter night.

 

Ordinarily, his New Years were spent away from this too crowded, too loud and too chaotic city. After Boxing Day, his family and Robb’s would head down to Aunt Catelyn’s family holiday house in Riverrun. It was a cabin right next to the Tumblestone River that was perfect for fishing if the stream had not frozen over from a particularly harsh winter. Sometimes if they brought their fishing equipment down with them, his Uncle Ned would take the boys downstream to fish for trout.

 

As children, Jon and his cousins would watch as his mother and Uncle Ned let off fireworks in the forests by the river on New Year’s Eve. They gathered around on top of picnic blankets to watch the display and breathed in the air heavy with the gun-powder and sulphur of the fireworks. As the skies lit up, all of the children wondered with childish naivety what new joys, hopes and adventures that the new year would bring with it.

 

This year, with his parents away on their cruise and the Stark pack gathered in Winterfell after the announcement of the incoming Stark-Tyrell baby, Jon thought it would be better to stay in the capital. It’d be a change, he had told himself, to see how this city that he begrudgingly called home celebrated. Although, a small voice told him that perhaps his wanting to stay south might have been influenced by a silver haired and lilac eyed public prosecutor. They had not seen each other since their drunken stroll back to her apartment and their moment underneath the mistletoe, and they had a _date_ tonight after all.

 

Jon clenched his jaw, hoping to will away the nerves as he approached Grey and Missandei’s apartment. Each time he thought back to that night, his stomach did flips and his hands balled into fists to stop from fidgeting.

 

Jon buzzed Grey and Missandei’s apartment number into the intercom. He was greeted with what sounded like Pyp’s slurred voice, “Jon! _Jonno boy!_ Come riiight in!” The entrance whined opened, and Jon climbed the stairs to Apartment 702. The elevators weren’t working, which was typical with these strata heavy buildings. Jon just wondered how people like Pyp would navigate all seven flights of stairs later tonight when they could barely walk in a straight line.

 

As he finally approached the seventh floor, slightly sweating, he could hear Pyp and Missandei’s voice from the stairway.

 

“Where is he?”

 

“Pyp, he’s got to climb up – relax, go grab another beer-,”

 

“Already ‘ave one, Missy. Got one for him too.”

 

Missandei and Pyp were already waiting for him – Missandei, the ever gracious host, and Pyp… well, he was always happy to see Jon come around to these events. He attended far and few in the last few years. Jon was welcomed with a giant, drunken bear hug when he entered the apartment. It was only seven, but Pyp had outdone the rest of the guests and was already _drunk_.

 

His friend handed him a beer, and they clinked their bottles together. Soon, Jon felt himself seek his familiar habit of seeking the outskirts of parties as they settled down on whatever room they found on the couches. He sat himself next to a girl he didn’t know, probably one of Missandei or Grey’s friends from work, who flashed him a smile as if she was about to introduce herself but he just turned to converse with Pyp.

 

His eyes scanned the lively, crowded apartment. It was almost like the scene at Sam and Gilly’s – lots of familiar faces in their little groups, drinking and some even wearing cone-shaped party hats. But for him, there was a visible absence of the silvery haired beauty that had been plaguing his mind for the past week.

 

Jon glanced down at his phone after a while. It was only seven-forty. Quite relatively early, but actually quite late to be stuck at work on _New Year’s Eve._ She did mention she was coming, wasn’t she?

 

“Pyp, mate,” Jon turned to his companion, “Did Daenerys swing by yet?”

 

“’unno. Didn’t see her come in yet.” Pyp gave him a playful nudge, “Saw you two disappear at Sam and Gilly’s. Good onya’, time to get back on the horse after the fall, eh?”

 

Jon only smiled good humouredly, but didn’t respond to Pyp’s little jab. He took a swig of his beer and his eyes were trained back to the door of Grey and Missandei’s apartment. It was as if he was expecting her to barge in at any moment, take him down to the beach below, and disappear together into the crowds. _To hell with this party and its small talk, Jon_ , she would say, and they would spend the rest of the night with sand between their toes and the salty biting winds against their faces. As midnight struck, he would pull her into a kiss – a real kiss, not the soft one they shared, just to show her how much passion and happiness he hoped to give her, right here, that she had been looking for.

 

Wouldn’t that be grand?

 

* * *

 

 

Nine-twenty-two.

 

That was when his night changed.

 

The hallway light filtered into the dimly-lit apartment for a second as Daenerys slipped in, and then closed the door behind her. Jon was by the kitchen, roped in by Grenn and Grey to do vodka shots with a group of people as if they were still freshers getting completely shit-faced at their first university party. The alcohol burned and left a terrible after-taste in his mouth, reminiscent of his university days indeed, and he wiped his mouth as he untangled himself from the group to make his way towards the oasis his parched self had been searching for.

 

“Jon,” Daenerys set her bag down by the couch, a light smile playing on her lips. Even in the dim light, Jon felt those cursed butterflies again as her lilac eyes studied him, peering at him as if she’s weighing up his very soul.

 

“Daenerys,” he breathed, the elation he felt at her eventual appearance was unhindered as he smiled widely, “Was starting to think you’d ghost me tonight.”

 

“Ghost you? With curls like those, I wouldn’t dare,” she accepted a drink from him, and waved at Missandei from across the room, though she remained firmly by his side. “Work actually had the audacity to call me in. Some last minute paper work had to be filed, and I’m the only solicitor inside the office who’s still in the country this time of the year. Otherwise I would have been here hours ago.”

 

“Perks of public service,” he grinned and she just rolled her eyes. Jon peered around at the party, and then back to her, “Look, I was just thinking – did you want to go on a walk with me? By the bay. Night’s not too cold, after all.”

 

Daenerys looped an arm inside his, her hand resting comfortably against his forearm, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

 

“Are you sure? You’ve just arrived.”

 

“Yes, but I came here to collect the _date_ that Mr Snow had promised me,” she teased.

 

“Oh, you are definitely most sly, Miss Targaryen,” he smiled, “But I never technically _promised_.”

 

“Oh sush you,” she gave him a coy smile, “But in that case, we can just stay here then.”

 

Jon had walked right into that one. “Alright, let’s get out of here.”

 

* * *

 

Even with the vodka shot and two beers in him, Jon managed to stumble down the fleets of stairs with Daenerys in one piece. They made their descent down onto the bay, which had been crowded with drunken revellers. The city had even erected braziers around the beach to illuminate the place just for tonight. Ironically, Jon found the crowd and noise perfect for their desired quiet stroll – they could disappear into the hustle and bustle, and just talk without the watchful eyes of their friends nearby.

 

It would just be him and her. No longer alone in a crowded space, as clichéd as that sounds.

 

Daenerys hadn’t let go of his arm since they left Grey and Missandei’s apartment, and despite the cold late December air, he could feel her warmth radiating next to him. His own face felt warm too, and he knew it wasn’t from the alcohol for once.

 

It was inexplicable. The indentation that her touch left, the profound effect that she had on him in this very moment; it was as if she was an inferno, and undeterred by the threat of incineration, he was drawn in, ready to be consumed.

 

As they approached a slightly less crowded section of the beach, Daenerys plopped down by the ledge of the pathway and gestured for him to join her. Their legs dangled off the edge as they faced the dark waters in front of them. A feeling of contentedness settled in the quietness as they studied the night sky, the sound of the crashing waves and prepared for the moments that would come next.

 

Jon felt the movement of her hair when Daenerys turned to face him, her moonlit presence next to him looking as ethereal as ever. “Have any New Year’s resolutions?”

 

He just shook his head, “I don’t really have any.”

 

“Because you don’t believe in them, right?”

 

“No. I just… haven’t thought of any up yet.” He leaned forward into the railing, his arms dangling over them, “Well, maybe to try new alcohol outside of beer and cheap vodka.”

 

Daenerys huffed out a small laughter through her nose, obviously amused. “Champagne is always a good start.”

 

“Oh, I think I’ll save those for the more precious moments,” he said. Maybe the lighting was playing with him, but he swore her cheeks were suddenly tainted with the loveliest shade of pink at this. “What about you?”

 

She was quiet for a brief second, “Happiness, I think.”

 

“That’s quite a clichéd one, isn’t it?”

 

“Not when you’ve been stifled for three years.”

 

Jon felt her body weight lean onto him. He curled an arm around her, welcoming her touch. “Can I ask you a question?” He felt her head nod against his shoulder, so he continued, “Why weren’t you happy?”

 

When she spoke, he could feel the distance that she was speaking to. It had taken her a moment to gather her thoughts, and evaluate whether she could relinquish it out into the open. “I think it’s more like I could not reciprocate the happiness and the effort that Daario had poured into the relationship. I felt like my attempts… they weren’t as genuine as his were. I don’t know how much sense that makes… but, I just felt tired of pretending. I felt tired of holding him down, so I let him go to find someone who would want his love and happiness in equal measure.”

 

Jon merely nodded, wondering if this was what Ygritte felt in their relationship. Did she feel as stifled as Daenerys did with Daario?

 

Thoughts of Ygritte and her flame-kissed hair were quickly drowned out the moment he stared down at her Valyrian features – at her lilac eyes that looked so immersed in a faraway world, and her silvery hair that brushed against him in the wind.

 

 “Now, can I ask you one as well, Jon?” She broke his stare and grounded him back, away from his thoughts.

 

“Am I being cross-examined?” he teased.

 

“I’m being serious,” a slight frown creased her brow.

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

She squeezed her hand, letting him know she was joking as well as her face lightened up. “I just told you that I’m… I just said I’m basically shit at this whole relationship thing.”

 

When she paused, he took the opportunity to finish the rest of her thoughts. In truth, his thoughts were not too far away from hers either regarding this. “You’re wondering why such a romantic fool such as myself is not running away.”

 

“In fewer words, but yes.”

 

Dark grey eyes met lilac ones. He gave her a soft smile. Oh, he wished to soothe her qualms, and maybe even his own, with the simplicity of his own thoughts regarding this. “I’m still here. And so are you. I suppose that counts for something, right?”

 

Daenerys considered his words. “Yes, we’re still here in spite of it all.”

 

“And it’s so… I can’t quite explain it,” he held her closer, “I just don’t know how to word it. But I know I _want_ to be here with you, regardless of what happened in the past.”

 

“I just don’t want to have some sort of misunderstanding about what _this_ is,” she said quietly, “I don’t want to ruin it. But I’m scared I will.”

 

“And what is this?”

 

There. He said it aloud. The burning question that underlined their moment before Christmas. When Daenerys leaned into his chest, Jon wondered if she could feel his heart pounding in his chest, or how loud his blood sang. She had tucked herself under his chin, which both brought her closer to him and yet, out of his view. “The future is never certain. But I just don’t feel as _lost_. I don’t feel as fretful. I don’t feel the pressure of pleasing others before my own happiness, like this is just _right_ and so real. I just feel like…,” she let her voice trail off into the darkness.

 

“You feel like it’s just us?” he ventured, but he knew that was what _he_ felt.

 

“Yes,” she whispered into his chest, “That it’s just us, beginning our own journeys anew. That we’re beginning again, separate, yet together.”

 

Jon let out a low, timbre laugh. It was relief. It was of understanding. It was of a wonderful, beautiful anticipation for what was to come.

 

He knew from the moment they stepped outside of Sam and Gilly’s that his life somehow was never going to be the same. That his armour he had been hiding behind had completely fallen off when he was around her – that his slate of drifting alone, listless and lost, had come clean. He wasn't a saint in the matter of love, as he had projected all his ideals onto Ygritte for all those years and refused to see in his rose-tinted vision how it was all wrong.

 

But with Daenerys, his vision had never been clearer. It had barely been over a week since she had come into his life; he had never saw her, never saw _this_ , coming, and never will he be the same no matter how this ended. “I think I know what my resolutions are. It’s to begin again.” _With you._

 

“To new beginnings,” she lifted her head off his chest and looked up as the skies lit in fireworks, counting down to the seconds before midnight.

 

His hands shook in anticipation as he untangled himself from her, and then held the sides of her face while her fingers twined themselves into his curls. Their lips parted and eyes were aflame. Daenerys tilted her head upwards, and Jon could do little more than close his eyes as their lips made contact. Soft, tantalising and with a tinge of saltiness from the sea breeze.

 

If their kiss under the mistletoe was the whisper of a promise, then their kiss now as the New Year was ringing in was _the_ promise that, at the very least, life had finally given them an inch and led them to one another. He had drifted aimlessly for so long that the stars he saw as he kissed her navigated him back to shore. He hoped the passion and vigour he poured into this kiss, which was so unlike their soft and gentle one under the mistletoe, screamed to her the promise of a new beginning – that he would fight for her happiness that she had been searching for.

 

They parted for air, but they remained still, their foreheads pressed against each other’s with their eyes closed. Hearts could be heard beating, blood singing with exultation. The firework displays in the skies above them could do little to part them from one another; the sounds of the crowds cheering jubilantly ringing in the New Year could not barely be heard. Just for this brief moment, the New Year started of with their embrace.

 

It felt right. It felt wonderful. And together, they begin again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had originally planned this as a one-shot, so this chapter is a _little_ shorter than the first. And so ends my very first story on this site. The response I got to the first part was definitely a lot more than I anticipated, so thank you all so much! 
> 
> Just to tie things up, I anticipate that Jon and Daenerys’ relationship to be something of a whirlwind; probably moving in after a few months, getting engaged after a year and something of a shot-gun wedding soon after. Rhaenys would be their little flower girl and much to her chagrin, her little brother Aegon aka Egg aka _'Do not eat that, Egg!'_ would be their ring bearer. 
> 
> I may or may not also be working on another Modern AU. This time, a multi-chapter story. No promises; although I resume university in early March, I also start a new job in January. We shall see how motivated the plot-bunnies are. Who knows, maybe too much adult-ing would make me want to escape into my writing. We shall see.
> 
> Alas, I digress. Thank you all once again, and a Happy New Year to all!


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